Friday, November 11, 2011

It
is like the casualties of war. First you hear general reports of American
soldiers killed in a far-off country. Then you read a profile of a soldier from
a town nearby who made the ultimate sacrifice. Finally you know someone who
lost a family member, or that family member was your own. That’s when it
becomes what we call “personal.”

While
certainly not as serious as death and war, watching the slow decline of the
newspaper industry has parallels. First there are general stories about the
news media outlets in general struggling to retain audience in this Internet
era. Then there are reports of lost advertising revenue. This is followed by
noticeable differences in the size and number of pages in some national
newspapers. Then some staff at a nearby newspaper are let go. Then home
delivery is reduced or eliminated. Finally, the “paper” exists online only if
at all.

Such
was the case with the shocking yet what seems inevitable announcement that a
nearby newspaper, the Grand Rapids Press, will only deliver an actual paper
three days a week beginning early next year. I teach and study media, and I
have watched and commented on the changes in media for several years now. But
this? The first newspaper I read with regularity? The paper that I wrote for
briefly as a young college graduate with a journalism degree? Going from a
“daily” to delivery only three days a week?

This
is personal.

I
grew up in Grand Rapids. A newspaper landing on our front stoop is one of my
early memories. My parents didn’t allow us to watch much television, and there
were no video games, internet, texting or other distractions young people have
today. So after doing my homework and playing while there was available
daylight, I often would hang out in the living room and read the paper. I
started the habit watching my dad, a plumber, come home from work and retire to
a lazy boy chair, his thick gray socks sticking out over the pull-out foot
rest, a copy of the paper held in the air. It would be about 20 minutes before
he put it down and dozed.

I
picked up the newspaper the first time out of boredom and curiosity. But soon
it was a habit. I had a natural interest in what was going on in the community
and the world. As someone who loved to read, I was fascinated that you could
have a job doing that for a newspaper. Journalism became my first career
calling. Plumbing was never a consideration.

Since
then I’ve moved into public relations and education. But I never lost my love
of a newspaper. I’m happy to say some of my students share that love. Not
enough of them, according to conversations I have with classes as well as
national survey data about newspaper readership. However, some of them not only
read online, but love an actual paper newspaper. They love the tactile pleasure
of newsprint in hand. Several even said they love the smell of a newspaper. I
smiled to hear one say that a cup of coffee and a newspaper remain one of
life’s simple pleasures.

But
all that’s changing. The paper you are reading now still is delivered six days
a week. But it is also available on computer and mobile device, in various
formats. In one sense this sounds like progress. But I also worry. What about
people who can’t afford computers or aren’t technically adept enough to read
online media? What about the online environment in which we are overwhelmed
with content but nevertheless can feel less informed? Will newspapers be able
to survive economically, or will they move to the Internet and then one day
just cease to exist altogether as a cacophony of bloggers take over?

Perhaps
I worry too much. There is much to gain from technological advances. I enjoy
accessing the Tribune wherever I am around the world when I travel. The
multi-media content, such as video clips and links to related content, enhance
the original reporting. The ability for readers to comment on articles, and
each others’ comments, adds a whole new community feeling to a community
newspaper. It actually could improve what media scholars call the “public
sphere,” in which journalists report and society discusses politics and other
relevant information of the day.

I
don’t really think newspapers are going to die. But they are changing. Maybe
“casualties of war” is too strong a metaphor. It’s more like the feeling I
imagine my friends have when their children leave the home for college or a
job. There is excitement and pride about inevitable progress and change. But
there is also a nagging, nostalgic twinge in the heart about losing something
special.